


The Watcher

by Alysswolf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, X-Files Lyric Wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alysswolf/pseuds/Alysswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mythical creature encounters Mulder's insatiable curiosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watcher

“It’s just a cemetery statue, Mulder. I think it’s supposed to be a gryphon; not a particularly well-carved one though,” the red-head added with a critical glare.

Gry remained still, refusing to rise to the insult to his carver or to himself. He allowed himself a brief rustle of his feathers and a tiny twitch of his tail under cover of a rising wind. True, he lacked the traditional eagle’s head and beak, but frankly he was satisfied with just avian wings and claws. The ability to ability to roar in the middle of the night more than made up for the deficiency in traditional form in his opinion.

Bringing himself back to the problem at hand, he stared down at the two investigators he’d briefly glimpsed in the forest last night. Gry was tempted to complain to the gods about this intrusion, but he ruefully admitted that he had only himself to blame. He’d been seen; a collision of hunters on the trail of a man who fed on the innocence and fear of children. Gry’s rage had been too great to step back and allow the humans to take the man. A child’s terror had summoned him and he would have vengeance for her suffering. Wisdom had urged him to slay and leave, but instinct had made him pause to reassure the child. That pause had given this man a fleeting glimpse of his shadow as he slipped into the darkness.

Humans dealt too kindly with these vampires who fed upon the spirit and souls of children, brutalizing them for their pleasure. Gry took care to deal out agony with justice. Whether the man deserved to die did not concern him. Gry was vengeance without mercy – the embodiment of the nightmarish death of the young girl whose grave he guarded. Her unrequited death gave birth to the spirit that dwelt within his stone form and decreed the manner of death he would deal out to those who preyed on children. In return, he bled whenever they bled out their innocence at the hands of monsters.

“Scully, this statue matches exactly the description Chandra gave of the creature who attacked Oberson – a big stone lion with wings and huge claws. It’s the only statue of its kind in a three county area,” the man replied calmly. Gry suspected that he was used to explaining the obvious to the woman.

Gry studied the pair as they argued. At first glance, he’d taken the red-head for the questing mind he’d touched briefly in the forest. She was obviously a descendant of the Celts who’d understood that vengeance could reach beyond the grave. Now he realized that she was a stunted child of that race. She did not believe and had hardened her heart against the mysteries that lurked beyond her science. The man, on the other hand, had the look of one who had been to Fey and returned. His eyes were like the hollow hills where mysteries were remembered. He believed. He sought the small truths that were shadows of the Great Truth. Gry wished he could tell him that he was right, that more things moved unseen through the world of men than he ever believed possible, but the time was not right.

“Mulder, Chandra was in shock. She’d been abducted, raped, and nearly strangled by Oberson before he was killed by a puma attracted by the blood. There’s no X-Files here, Mulder. Oberson was mauled to death in a national forest where numerous pumas have been sighted. Chandra was reported to be a very imaginative child. She simply created a mythical creature to explain what happened,” the red-head retorted sharply.

It didn’t take preternatural intuition to know that they had had this argument before. The woman’s voice was edgy, but determined as she refuted the truth with rationalization and science. Gry was very grateful to science – it made it all but impossible for any but the children to see him or, in those rare cases where he encountered a true-seer, to admit that they had seen him. He was superstition carved in stone perched atop the grave of a murdered child.

“She was very calm when I found her, Scully. Calm enough to say that the lion had told her to be brave because the bad man was dead and she would be rescued very soon,” came the reply from the man apparently undaunted by the woman’s determined rationalism.

“Mulder, I’m going to need more than the word of a hysterical child before I’m even willing to entertain the idea that statues get up and move around,” Scully retorted defiantly.

Gry growled deep in his throat at the slur on Chandra, then caught himself as he heard his claws scrape the surface of the rock. A few feet away, carved in an eternal nap atop another grave, a small feline statue hissed sending leaves flying in the air. Distracted, the man turned his head and Gry relaxed. He had to remember to thank Patches come nightfall. Maybe one of his old stories would do – She loved old stories, especially those with heroic cats. Gry put part of his mind culling through stories to tell.

“It’s just the wind, Mulder.”

Gry watched her and wondered if she was talking as much to convince herself as the man. Beneath her layer of scientific denial of the supernatural, the Celt lived and listened for the sounds of things that go bump in the night. Gry wondered what she would do if he suddenly rose up in the air with a single sweep of his wings then returned to his perch. It was tempting, but the repercussions for all of them here were too costly. Men had to go on believing that statues didn’t move, think, laugh, or kill. Of course, Gry acknowledged, not all of them did, but put a statue in a cemetery and the strangest things were likely to happen.

“There’s blood on the statue, Scully,” Mulder resumed the argument.

 _I bleed for the children._ Gry whispered silently wishing the man would understand and go away.

“Hello,” the cheery voice of Father Kearny broke through the morning fog to Gry’s relief. He had never been able to decide if Father Kearney knew that the statues in his cemetery were sentient, but he always had a cheerful word of greeting to say to each of them whenever he passed through. Even the grumpy Weeping Angel in the old part of the cemetery brightened up at this courtesy. Gry had had to warn Patches about her purring response more than once. Gry seized the moment to cautiously curl his claws tighter on the stone. He’d been in too much of a hurry to return here before daylight to thoroughly clean them. Ordinarily this wouldn’t matter, people were easily persuaded that the evidence of their eyes was mistaken, but Gry was taking no chances with this seeker of truth. The one called Mulder saw entirely too clearly and all he needed was a hint that he was on the right trail to pursue it to the truth.

“Father, what do you know about this statue?” Mulder asked brusquely.

“Ah, admiring the lad, are you? He’s over a hundred years old; carved in Wales and shipped over by special commission by the father of the girl buried here,” Kearney said proudly. “There was a bit of a fuss at the time about putting a mythological creature on consecrated ground, but the priest at the time put his foot down and he came in. He’s a bit of a local mystery,” Kearney said proudly.

“Why?” Mulder asked while Scully smiled politely. Gry suspected that she would have rolled her eyes if it had been anyone other than a priest spinning the tale.

“He cries blood.”

“Like this?” Mulder asked, pointing to two small red pools on Gry’s muzzle.

“He’s doing it again.” Kearney shook his head after giving Gry a sympathetic look. “I’ve had a stonemason out here along with a geologist and they say it has something to do with the composition of the stone and atmospheric changes. Perfectly logical, but I like to think that there’s something of a mystery involved. Life would be pretty dull if everything could be explained away,” Kearney said cheerfully.

"Would you say that this statue has the ability to get up and move around, Father?” Scully asked with a shade more contempt than Gry liked to hear. He was on her side in her attempts to dissuade Mulder from pursuing the investigation, but a bit more humility in the face of the unknown would be prudent in his opinion.

“Never heard that he has,” Kearney replied cautiously after a searching glance at Gry who concentrated on being an immovable statue.

“Chandra Ralls claims a stone lion flew in to rescue her,” Scully said before Mulder could say a word.

“Ah, the young girl who was kidnapped. Well, if a child sees an avenging angel they’re likely to see it in a form that is most reassuring to them. If she believes in this lion, then it’s real to her.“

“I don’t think it was an angel she saw, Father,” Scully retorted sharply.

“Angels come in many forms, Miss. And in many unlikely ones. However, the gates have been locked all night and the watchman didn’t report any flying statues, so I suspect the girl saw what she most needed to see,” Kearney replied, not quite looking at Mulder who was alternately staring at him and at the statues scattered about the cemetery.

“If you have a record of when the statue has bled, I’d like to see it,” Mulder asked politely after giving Gry one last stare that left no doubt that he was not buying the logical explanations. It was clear that he wasn’t giving up, but had accepted that he wasn’t going to win this round with both Scully and Father Kearney offering competing, but logical explanations for the child’s testimony.

Gry watched them walk away until they turned the corner towards the chapel and Father Kearney’s office. He had a reprieve. Gry relaxed his guard and allowed himself to slip into sleep. If the gods were merciful, he would not bleed again.

The End.

 

Lyrics

"I Bleed"  
recorded by the Pixies  
lyrics by Black Francis

as loud as hell  
a ringing bell  
behind my smile  
it shakes my teeth  
and all the while  
as vampires feed  
I bleed

prithee, my dear,  
why are we here  
nobody knows  
we go to sleep  
as breathing flows  
my mind secedes  
I bleed

there's a place  
in the buried west  
in a cave  
with a house in it  
in the clay  
the holes of hands  
you can place  
a hand in hand  
I bleed.


End file.
